Chapter 10: The Last Days Together

"Eat up, now, love, while it's hot."

Freya set the last bowl of stew down on the table in front of her daughter, before she seated herself next to Hunith, and where she could see Gaius in his chair at the fireplace.

Momentarily she brushed a dark curl back from Marya's face as the little girl began to eat, and marveled, as she often did, at the miracle of her little daughter. Hers, and Merlin's.

So lively and inquisitive, awake, Freya sometimes found it hard to keep up with the steady stream of questions and observations and her need to investigate the world around her – in the physician's chamber, as in Merlin's library and Hunith's garden, fairly constant supervision was needed, for safety's sake.

And times like now, focused on her meal, so calm and quiet.

She toyed with her own spoon – hungry, but more focused on absorbing the serenity of the room and her family. It had been a busy day, gathering and packing all of the supplies they'd need, medically serving an army on the march… and then at war. She'd packed Merlin's things, too.

"One piece at a time," Hunith told Marya, pulling the platter of bread back from Marya's impatient fingers until her granddaughter nodded agreement. Freya took the dish as Hunith passed it to her, but set it down untouched.

Whatever Alator and Finna had brought for him, aside from the talk of help through the dark days to come, it was not good news to Merlin. And then for the king to be worried enough in the middle of commanding an expeditionary force leaving on the morrow, to come looking for Merlin himself… and then the news of Kilgarrah.

"How come we're not waiting for Father, to eat?" Marya said, kicking her heels against the bench she was seated on.

"We talked about this, remember?" Freya answered, avoiding Hunith's glance. "He's very busy helping the king with the army."

"Where is he though?"

This time, Freya met her mother-in-law's gaze, worried-sympathetic, and sighed, deciding to answer honestly. "I don't know, exactly."

"What happened?" Those blue eyes, so like Merlin's, were round and deep; already Marya had an uncanny knack for asking just the right question, just the right way.

Freya decided to give the only answer she was sure of, and probably the simplest of all possible explanations for Merlin's continued absence. "Kilgarrah died, honey, just this morning."

Hunith already knew this, Freya had told her as soon as she and Marya had arrived; she wasn't sure why the older woman's eyes were so attentive, suddenly – until she realized she'd dropped her hand to her as-yet flat abdomen.

"Is that why," Hunith said.

Halfway through the garden, that morning, Freya had been faced with a sudden choice – sit down or fall down. A terrible twist in her stomach and an inexplicable urge to cry. Hunith had probably guessed her condition then, though the older woman had only ushered her inside for a cup of cool water and a quarter-hour's rest, before urging her home and promising to finish the gardening chores on her own.

Freya only shrugged – so many questions, and no solid answers. Although, she and the babe both seemed fine, now.

Marya, across the supper table, kicked her heels and blinked thoughtfully at the news. Freya wondered now, whether she ought to have asked if their daughter had experienced any odd sensation or illness or emotion, at the time. What would it mean if she had? What would it mean if she hadn't?

"Father is very sad, then, isn't he?" Marya said only.

"Yes, honey, and he might have to be sad for a while –"

"He tries to take care of everybody, doesn't he?" Marya interrupted. "He's a physician, and a sorcerer, and he's supposed to take care of everybody, only… I don't think that's possible, Mama, even for Father. He shouldn't be sad if there wasn't anything he could do."

"Honey," Freya tried gently to explain, "he's going to be sad because he'll miss Kilgarrah."

Marya's eyes widened in childish disbelief. "Really?"

Freya sighed, and smiled, as Hunith hid her own expression behind her hand. "One day you'll understand."

"It's 'cause he's a dragonlord, and now he only has one dragon to be lord to?" Marya asked.

"That's…" Freya stared at her little daughter; Hunith's amusement had vanished. "That's quite close, actually."

And the next moment Marya was off onto, "Did you have to put cabbage in the soup, Mama? I don't like cabbage."

Freya smiled and didn't answer, as Marya turned to her grandmother and began to chatter about all the foods she didn't like, and those she did.

She loved her little daughter, so much. No matter what happened in the days to come, she was content, even happy, making this memory. Knowing part of her, part of Merlin, would grow to be an amazing young woman with a special destiny of her own.

Halfway through the meal, Hunith rose to bring Gaius another piece of bread, in his comfortable chair by the hearth, and Freya leaned over to see how much was left in Marya's bowl, and encourage her to finish.

The door opened, and they all – even Gaius – looked up to see Merlin slip inside, and close it behind him.

In the first moment when no one reacted, Freya saw the grief that still lay on him, but it was calm, and the other elements of his personality shone steadfast – loyalty and determination and magic.

"Father!" Marya called, kicking one leg over the bench, before Freya recalled her.

"Supper first, Marya."

Hunith was at the door already, reaching up to embrace her tall son and whisper in his ear. Freya remembered that Hunith had known three generations of dragonlords, now, though she wouldn't have realized that before the battle of Dinas Emrys. Merlin put his arms around his mother and listened, and responded quietly, and allowed her to turn his face to kiss his cheek.

His eyes found Freya's, and though neither of them smiled, something in his expression eased, and she found comfort.

"Sit," Hunith said more clearly, releasing him. "I'll bring you a hot bowl." She turned to the kettle on the hearth, and Merlin came to the table.

"So the great dragon is gone," Gaius remarked clearly from his chair.

Merlin looked up as he seated himself at the head of the table, met the old man's gaze, and nodded. "Yes, Kilgarrah's dead."

Freya reached to take his hand, and he squeezed back gently.

"Father, I'm going to miss him, too," Marya piped up, declaring a determination for the future rather than stating an established fact.

Merlin leaned to put his other hand on her head, a rather melancholy smile on his lips beneath the dark beard Freya was still getting used to. Hunith set the bowl of stew before him on the table, resting her hand on his shoulder over the sleeveless calf-length jacket he wore. As he began to eat, his hand still in Freya's, Gaius spoke again.

"The red dragon is gone," the old man said. "What does this mean?"

"It means," Merlin stated, rather shortly, between bites, "that the white dragon will go to war."

"And is Albion united?" Gaius asked, oddly intent.

Merlin paused, but barely. "It is," he said, in a voice that made Marya kneel on the bench to peer more closely at his face.

"Good then that's settled," Gaius said comfortably. He handed his bowl to Hunith's waiting hand, as Freya coaxed Marya to settle properly on the bench, and Merlin scraped the last of his dinner from his bowl.

"Bed time, young lady," Freya decided.

"Oh, may I go with Father?" Marya pleaded, holding out her arms to him.

He stood and lifted her, but set her feet on the bench by the table, so that her head was only a few inches lower than his.

"I've got a present for you," he told her, reaching in his pocket.

"Another one?" she said, hopping once and balancing herself on Merlin's shoulder as the bench wobbled under her feet. "Mama put the hawk-button on my new cloak already."

Merlin held out a blue ribbon threaded through a round wooden charm, a delicately-carved flat disc depicting a druid's knot. Marya took it carefully between her fingertips.

"Father, this looks like –" she began uncertainly.

"It is," he answered. "It's shielding magic. A charm of protection, to keep you safe while I'm gone." She released it, and he tied it around her neck, barely finishing before she threw her arms around his.

For a brief moment, his face twisted, and Freya's heart echoed it. But Merlin only wrapped his arms around his daughter, and caught her weight as she jumped up against his chest, turning toward the house's second room, portioned into sleeping arrangements by folding screens.

Hunith met them at the doorway, putting her arms around her son and his daughter, kissing first one, then the other.

Freya stood to help her mother-in-law clear the rest of the dishes from the table and wash and clean up. Gaius began snoring, by the fire, and when Hunith joined him to pick up her sewing, Merlin returned. Freya went to him immediately, but instead of embracing her, he took her hand and led her to his chair at the head of the table.

Seating himself again, he drew her down into his lap, her knees sideways off his – and then wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the front of her shoulder. She gripped him as well, feeling the tension in his body, the struggle he had with himself, simply to breathe evenly. She ran her fingers through his hair, thick and silky and she loved it, soothing him and comforting him and loving him with that simple touch.

"Are you all right?" she said in a low voice.

"Not really," he responded, "but I have to be. When one warrior falls, the battle doesn't stop to allow his fellows to mourn. It'll have to wait."

He wasn't a knight, he was a physician. But yes, also a fighter. She had seen that before, though not for a very long time, how the divergent uses of his magic sometimes troubled him.

"I'm very sorry about Kilgarrah," she said.

He exhaled against her and sat back, her hands clasped loosely around the back of his neck, his fingers threaded together around her hip, his gaze past her on the older couple at the fire.

"For… seven years, Gaius was my mentor," he said, very softly. "He taught me so much about healing and magic and… ethics." She understood, but he went on, not needing to explain, but simply to express. "Seventeen years, Kilgarrah has been… almost the same thing. If I had questions, I went to him and he had answers." Merlin's eyes shifted to her, and his lips quirked in the way that always had her thinking about kissing. "Not very clear ones, all the time – hardly ever – but. Now it feels like –"

"You're alone?" she finished for him, and allowed her voice to take on a gentle chiding tone. "You know that's not true. Maybe your friends don't have the answers Kilgarrah did, but they'll help you find them, you know."

He hummed and tightened his arms around her waist. "It was a prophecy," he said, and she leaned back a little to give him an uncomprehending look. "That Alator brought. A centuries-old Catha prophecy."

"About this battle?" she said.

He shifted in the chair, and freed one hand to rub his forehead. "No – maybe – I don't know. It's about a battle, at a certain place… where Arthur will die."

"Oh…" she said, and her heart was in that drawn-out word. Now she understood what had kept him all night, that night.

"It only says where, not when," he continued, "so I kind of hope that we can avoid the where, but…"

"Merlin," she said. "What is prophecy for?"

He dropped his hand and looked at her. "What?" he said.

"The Catha. Centuries ago, when they wrote the prophecy." Finna had said it had been sealed for a long time. "What made them decide to save it, to make sure the information got to you?"

"Well, a warning –"

"When Morgana has dreams," Freya said, not waiting for him to finish. "She tells Arthur – and you – whatever it's about, right? It's not to prevent it happening, though, is it?"

"Well, Morgana's dreams," Merlin said, "don't often come to the conclusion implied, even if the images she sees actually take place."

"Why should this be different?" Freya said.

"Because it's – the conclusion isn't implied, it's stated. Here Arthur will meet his end."

"But the prophecy," she said gently, "isn't given to you to prevent. Maybe it's a warning, maybe you have to choose and fight and so on, even knowing what might happen – and then the conclusion might turn out differently than you expect, looking toward it in the future, rather than back on it in the past. Do you see what I mean? If you can't actually prevent it happening, whenever it's supposed to happen, however it's supposed to happen, maybe it's…" She hesitated. It felt insensitive to discuss Arthur's death philosophically when Merlin was trying to hold back the hurt of Kilgarrah's death.

"What?" he said, intently.

"To give you – and him, maybe – a chance to come to terms with it? To make peace with an inevitability before it happens? I mean, every time you two – or any knight – rides out, the wives have to do this. Face the fact that you might not come back. And accept there's nothing we can do about it, but be strong when the time comes, for the children. And when you ride back we sigh in relief - but we know, if not this time, perhaps next time…"

His expression was such an endearing mixture of chagrin and sympathy that she pulled his head toward her and kissed the frown.

"Have you ever really done that?" she said. "You're so determined, every time, that you're going to save Arthur or die trying. But perhaps his fate – and yours – is that he'll die first. You can't preserve his life forever, Merlin, can you." A speculative look came into his eyes and she gave him a little shake. "Stop that. I just mean, maybe the prophecy was meant for you and not him, for that reason. Not for you to try to stop it, but for you to accept it as eventual, so… so it won't be a terrible shock, when it does?"

He sighed, and pulled her close again. "How? How am I supposed to accept that? I know that's he's basically succeeded in uniting Albion, but he's so young, yet, Freya, Lucan is so young yet. Camelot still needs him…"

"You still need him," she said into his hair, and he nodded, his nose bumping her breastbone. "It's not easy," she whispered, thinking of how she had to make her heart let go every time she bid him farewell.

And because of the – unlimited? – supply of magic at his command, she knew he felt like, every time, he should be able to do something. To prevent a death, to fix the tragedy, to accomplish the ideal. It was something she loved about him, that optimism and determination, but it was often a cause of heartache for him that she wished she could prevent, his private burden of responsibility he shouldered alongside his power.

"Merlin, I –" She gave herself a wry smile; she'd just finished lecturing him on the feelings of those left behind when the fighters departed. "I want to ask you… I want to come with the army, when you ride out in the morning."

He went perfectly still; he didn't draw back or look at her face.

"Hunith said Marya could stay here."

She looked sideways and caught her mother-in-law's glance as she bit off her thread and shook out the fabric of the garment; unable to hear what they said, Hunith surely could still guess at the gravity of the conversation between her son and daughter-in-law. The look she gave Freya was compassionate and supportive. From the woman who used to hold him and pillow his head on her shoulder when he was a small boy, to the one who did the same, now that he was a grown man.

"I've packed your things, and mine. There will be more need for me in Stawell than Camelot. And I'll be with Finna, she can take care of me in regards to – you know…" He twitched and she clutched him, unwilling to see his expression until she'd finished, whether he was angry or disappointed or what. "But I'm not that far along, I won't even start showing, not really, for maybe two months yet, there's hardly any risk of any accident I have harming… and, Morgana's going, and she's nearly seven months, now."

"Stawell is Morgana's home," Merlin reminded her softly. He shifted, laying the side of his face – his ear – more closely against her chest.

She waited, feeling her heart beat, then ventured, "You didn't say no."

He drew back again, then, but his eyes weren't on her face; he lifted his hand to trace the faint line of the cord of the ware-stone she wore around her neck under the fabric of her dress. It was long enough that the stone didn't show through the curve of her bodice; she thought only he knew she wore it constantly. Maybe Marya or Hunith did too, possibly Enid.

"I can't make you promise to use this while we're gone, can I?" he said.

She sighed. "Merlin… When you're gone, I have no way of knowing if at any given moment you're fleeing wounded for your life, and his, or concentrating on delicate and dangerous magic, or what. The last time I called you when you had gone to fight with Arthur, it very nearly killed you."

"It wasn't that bad," he protested.

"No? Tell me Aithusa didn't fix some serious damage in your back, breathing through that broken window in the throne room," she said. "Tell me Gaius was wrong about you bringing the three of us – and an evil undead knight you didn't mean to bring and didn't know you were bringing – from the cave, and what that magic took out of you."

"It wasn't that bad," he repeated, pretending grumpiness.

"If I can't know, what sort of situation you're in, I can't make you choose, between him and me," she finished softly. "It isn't fair."

"Freya… if something happened to you, and I found out that at that moment we were sitting by the fire making jokes, do you know what it would do to me?" he said, and the depth of his earnest blue eyes gave her a little involuntary shiver. "If I say yes, and keep you with me as long as possible, let you stay a day's distance rather than three or four, will you please give that choice back to me? That was ten years ago, I do believe that strength of magic as well as judgment has improved?" She smiled at the slight teasing. "Please trust me."

Well. If her resistance to the possibility of presenting him with a simultaneous emergency seemed to him a lack of trust, she was going to have to change her mind herself. Relinquish her own small attempt to control fate and destiny, perhaps.

"I do trust you," she said, touching her forehead to his and closing her eyes, breathing his breath, smelling the faint lingering spice of the stew. "Then… yes."

"In that case," he said softly, "we should say goodbye to my mother and Gaius, and return to the citadel to get some sleep. First light comes quickly."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Gwen smoothed down the fabric of the long purple tunic, sleeveless and fur-lined, and turned in front of the mirror, glad to see that these garments still fit, after a decade of years and three children. A bit snug through the waist, but not uncomfortable or unsightly. It had been quite a long time since she'd had occasion to wear such clothes, and there simply wasn't time for new ones.

She heard the door of the royal bedchamber open, and watched in the mirror as Arthur entered, then closed the door behind him. He leaned against the thick iron-bound oak panels for a moment, his expression one of weary preoccupation.

"Did you have any trouble?" Gwen asked. It had taken him a bit longer than usual, this evening, with the children's bedtime routines.

He didn't look at her as he answered. "Lucan wanted to come with us; he's full of talk about swords and fighting. Brian heard from someone that the great dragon died, and he was worried about that. Bethan doesn't want to be parted from her little cousin Nenna, even if it means having Marya to herself again." He sighed and Gwen chuckled, turning around to face him.

"They are growing up fast – but not too fast," she said.

He hummed absently, switching his gaze to her, and she watched him realize what she was wearing. "What are you doing?"

She smiled. "I'm coming with you."

"The battlefield is no place for a queen," he protested immediately.

"I have no intention of joining you there, I can assure you," she answered archly.

He crossed to her, taking her in his arms and nuzzling into her hair and the fur of the collar, his breath forming a pocket of heat against the side of her neck. "I remember when I first saw you wearing this," he said. "When we left Lionys. And I'd only known you for four days."

"Five," she corrected. "Depending on how you count it."

His lips moved slowly on the side of her neck, to the lobe of her ear. She blinked languidly, smiling in spite of their situation, and tipped her head as encouragement. He shifted his body slightly, still kissing her, to bring his hands to the top toggle closing the tunic at the fur-lined collar.

"Tell me," she said, holding his upper arms and allowing his intentions, "did you think of doing this at all, way back then?"

"On our journey from Lionys?" he said against her ear, dragging the backs of his knuckles deliberately but gently down her body to loose the next toggle. "Before we were betrothed?"

She murmured affirmation.

"Guinevere," he growled, and a little thrill shot up her spine, as it often did when he said her name like that. "Not a fair question." He retreated to focus his attention on unfastening her tunic down her stomach. "If I said yes, you would be shocked and offended that my imagination would take such liberties with a lady's honor. And if I said no –" She leaned back against his grip on her tunic, now down past the waist to the flare of the skirt at her hips, and he tugged her back to him. "You'd put your hands on your hips and demand to know why not, did I find you unappealing to a man's senses."

"You didn't answer the question," she pointed out, but couldn't hold back her smile.

He abandoned the toggles to slip his hands between the fur lining and the thin white shirt she wore beneath the tunic, embroidered with large cream-yellow flowers. Pushing the heavier tunic from her shoulders to pool around her feet.

"I'm going to need that tomorrow," she informed him, a bit breathlessly.

"Well, it's already laying out, then." His grin began more than a bit diabolical beneath the beard, but softened perceptibly. "Guinevere, you're lovely to me no matter what you wear. I find you utterly charming in your nightdress and messy braid and bare feet, and irresistibly gorgeous in a gown of satin or silk, your hair all in curls or flowers." He threaded one hand into her hair at the back of her neck, and with the other at her hip, drew their bodies together to kiss her lips in light quick movements. "I couldn't take my eyes off you, this morning."

She expressed disbelief and reservation in a single sound, reminded of something else she wanted to ask him.

"You couldn't take your eyes off Merlin, in the meeting," she said, and Arthur pulled back again with a sigh. "Is he all right?"

"I don't know." He released her, rubbed his forehead down to the bridge of his nose, then looked into her eyes for a long searching moment before moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Is it more than just Kilgarrah?" she guessed, following. She stepped between his knees, and he hung his arms around her hips in a loose embrace, laying his cheek over her heart.

Arthur said, "You are an amazing queen, and a wonderful mother. Lucan is fortunate to have you, he's going to be a faithful prince and a trustworthy king, one day."

She toyed absently with the crisp layers of his golden hair, feeling her way past the compliment to the concern that prompted it. "Did Morgana finally tell you whatever it is she's been keeping from you all week?"

He jerked back so suddenly she almost stumbled.

"What," he said, not really a question.

"You've noticed it, too," she guessed. "Something about her vision that she hasn't said, yet?"

He shook his head, slowly but decisively. "No. No, she always tells us everything about her vision." He maneuvered her and shifted himself, til she was sitting on the bed beside him and he was half-facing her. "Guinevere… do you know how many times she's been convinced that she's seen my death? At least four that I can think of immediately, and probably more. Ten years ago, when we came back to Camelot – did he ever tell you this? – Merlin had seen Morgana's coronation in a future-telling crystal, and was terrified it meant that I'd died."

"What are you saying," Gwen said, gripping his hand on the knee of the dark trousers she wore. "Did Merlin –"

"Merlin's been told another prophecy," he said.

A dark shudder ran through her. Since word of the two visions had begun their preparations for war, Morgana's agitated evasiveness and Freya's preoccupation and the absence of Merlin's indomitable cheer about the palace had worried her on an almost subconscious level.

"So you won't be coming back from the White Mountains," she heard herself say. "Arthur, if these are to be your last days, I would far rather spend them together than sit waiting for a man I might never see again."

And for one brief moment, she memorized the man she loved. His golden hair where the king's crown seemed so natural, the clear blue eyes that could hold humor or anger or anything in-between, maybe not clearly, but she had learned to read his moods. His mouth that could be surprisingly expressive – his body hard and strong and skilled, smooth and warm, fascinating to her whether she was watching him train from afar or moving with him as they loved each other in the stillness and solitude of the night. His hands that handled his sword, his quill, his babies with confidence. His heart. How he threw himself so completely into every problem they faced, and even his diminishing tendencies to self-doubt resulted in a rule that could absorb advice from any corner and resolve the question the stronger for the asking.

She remembered thinking, upon seeing his scar for the first time, the irredeemable loss all the lands would feel, at Arthur's death. Perhaps now he had the years and deeds behind him that the negative effect would not be so great, and the kingdoms of Albion would stand and survive without him. Perhaps she would find a way to stand and survive without him, too.

But oh, she hoped she wouldn't have to!

"Yes – no, I mean," he said, and shook his head, setting his jaw determinedly. "I don't know, for sure. Do you want to know what he told me?"

"No," she decided. "Arthur – no one lives forever. But I'd rather go on as I've begun, hoping for the best and preparing myself for the worst, every time you leave. And not worry about anything more." She scooted closer to him, rumpling the coverlet between them, and laid her hand along the soft beard on his jaw. "Just – be careful."

He nodded, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips; he leaned forward and kissed her.

"Arthur," she scolded, but smiled.

"I can't help it," he mumbled, kissing her again, cupping her shoulder and letting his hand drop to caress her arm. "You're so beautiful when you're worried about me."

He moved closer, kissing down her neck, and she held onto him as he pressed her down to the bed beneath him. She accepted and returned his expression of desire, knowing that this would be the last time – maybe forever – that she would be with him as her husband.

Tomorrow, he would be king. And he would go to war.

A/N: Hi, I'm back! I'd kind of hoped to get this one done in rough draft form, but I didn't. I think, though, I've got enough to keep regular updates til it's done… This chapter is a bit shorter, but it's the last in the Camelot setting – next chapter, on the road again.

Also, just if anyone notices the detail, I've made an executive decision to change a few of the previous chapters, in that Isolde and Istan accompany Tristan north to liaise with Bayard and Lot – it makes more sense that way, than to have Isolde remain behind, or even accompany the rest of the army on her own…

Oh, and some dialogue from ep.5.12 "The Diamond of the Day".